


Flannel

by skyline



Category: Big Time Rush, How to Rock
Genre: F/M, M/M, james is dumb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-26 20:57:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5020243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyline/pseuds/skyline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlos launches into an explanation of Stevie, getting as far as her flannel shirt before James interjects, “She doesn’t dress like Kendall, okay. She dresses like…like…like nineties punk rock. But cleaner.”</p>
<p>“We’re not judging,” Carlos says in his judgmental voice. “You have a type, and that type has evolved from pretty girl to lumberjack hobo.”</p>
<p>“I wonder how that happened,” Logan adds pointedly, staring across the room at Kendall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flannel

**Author's Note:**

> Old fic. Hopefully not too terrible? I don't know.

James meets her on a coffee run. She’s standing in line, dressed in red and navy flannel and a gray beanie, strumming chords against the fabric of her jeans. That’s what really grabs James’s attention, the play of her fingers over fabric worn so thin that he can almost make out the color of her thighs beneath it. It’s hypnotic, enrapturing, enough that he really wants to know what those fingers will look like against his dick.  
  
(Kendall would yell at him for that. He’s always telling James that girls don’t exist solely for sex because he is a romantic sap straight out of Shakespeare. He wants love at first sight and James wants to screw the whole world into his mattress, but it’s all copasetic. Mr. Knight-in-Shining-Armor isn’t here and James can’t help his very…very…very vivid imagination, alright?)  
  
Suddenly, James is pretty grateful that Carlos tried using Mrs. Knight’s Keurig as a distillery last night (and who knew that would be a bad idea?). He sidles up to the girl and asks, “What are you playing on that air guitar?”  
  
She’s sassy, that’s evident right away. She whips her head around with fire in her eyes and an insult on her lips, a dragon girl, a fighter. James likes that, and she likes him. Of course she does. Being pretty is what James is best at. When she sees his face she bites down on her words – _listen, fucktard_ \- and considers. She says, “It’s a bass.”  
  
“Cool.” James gives her his best winning smile. “Are you in a band?”  
  
She is, and she spends the next forty five minutes enthusiastically outlining their set list while Mrs. Knight’s latte grows cold in his hand. Which, whatever. James mostly volunteered to pick up the caffeine because he was already going on a jog and every once in a while an act of charity isn’t totally beneath him.  
  
(Also because Mrs. Knight without coffee is like the behemoth rising from the underworld, but James prefers the version that sounds more selfless.)  
  
It’s when Kendall and Carlos show up at the coffee shop, mouths smushed up to the window and agony written across their faces that James remembers he’s got an actual job to do here. He ignores the way Kendall is fog writing _HELP_ on the glass and tells the girl,  
“Hey, I’ve got to run. But do you want to go out sometime?”  
  
He doesn’t waste precious time stuttering through it or trying to sweet talk. He’s James Diamond, girl maestro. His pheromones ooze pheromones.  
  
The girl’s lips twitch up into a smirk that takes James’s breath away. “Sure.”  
  
James takes a quick second to punch his number into her phone before he turns on his heel, mission complete. He freezes when she calls, “Uh, but, you never told me your name.”  
  
She’s staring at her contact list, presumably trying to figure out which name is a new addition. Oops. “I’m James.”  
  
“Hi, James.” She smiles, warm as apple pie. “I’m-“  
  
“Stevie,” James finishes.  
  
“How did you know?”  
  
He waves the flyer she gave him, advertising her band, Gravity 5. “It’s right here. See you later.”  
  
James grins, he winks, he scores.  
  
Out in the sunlight, Kendall and Carlos wait for him with crossed arms.  
  
“Who was that?” Kendall jostles him, expression knowing. Like he actually knows anything.  
  
James elbows him in the ribs. “Why, want to borrow her beanie?”  
  
“I think he already owns that one,” Carlos says helpfully.  
  
“Hey!” Kendall pouts. “Can we please go hydrate my mother before she eats Logan?”  
  
“She’s going to eat Logan? Sweet.” James cheers, “I call his solos.”  
  
“Friends don’t let their mothers eat their friends, okay?” Kendall snatches the cold coffee. “I can’t believe it took you this long to finish  
getting your flirt on.”  
  
“Dating is an art form,” James objects.  
  
“You mean walking up to a girl and saying _wanna fuck_ doesn’t work? I had no idea.” Kendall sulks. He’s a master sulker.  
  
James shrugs. “Not unless the girl’s drunk. When is the last time you went on a date, exactly?”  
  
“Sometime in the middle ages.” Carlos snorts.  
  
“Oh, like you should talk. I distinctly recall your last date being this side of never,” Kendall snaps.  
  
“Don’t listen to him buddy.” James wraps a protective arm around Carlos’s shoulders. He confides, “Kendall gets testy when no one wants in his pants.”  
  
“Plenty of people want in my pants!” Kendall protests, cheeks stained red.  
  
 _No one_ , James mouths to Carlos. To Kendall he asks, “Oh yeah? Like who?”  
  
“Just. People. Awesome people,” Kendall demurs.  
  
“Awesome…people,” James repeats dubiously.  
  
He has no qualms about lording his total superiority over Kendall. In fact, it’s kind of his favorite thing. So when Kendall retorts, “Shut up, I’m just not interested in a relationship right now,” sunset colors burning across the bridge of his nose, James smirks, benevolently  
smug.  
  
Carlos asks, “Is that code for no one wants in your pants?”  
  
Kendall’s eyes go avocado green, blazing the way they always do when he’s challenged. “No.”  
  
 _Yes_ , James mouths again.  
  
“Stop doing that,” Kendall shoves James’s shoulder. “I’m allowed to not want a relationship.”  
  
“Uh, true and valid,” James agrees. “You’re allowed to not want a relationship. But you’re not allowed to not want to get laid. You’re a  
boy. Boys like sex. I like sex. Carlos, do you like sex?”  
  
Carlos shrugs. “Probably. I would. If I’d ever-“  
  
James barrels right over that, because he keeps meaning to fix that whole virgin thing and then forgetting and then feeling guilty and he really hates having feelings sometimes. “So the question, Kendall, is why don’t you like sex?”  
  
“I…like…sex.” Kendall’s blood is all welling beneath the surface of his skin, turning him redder than a maraschino cherry.  
  
“Then?”  
  
“I haven’t met the right person. Recently.” Kendall explains, and that is a blatant lie because James has introduced Kendall to like, eighty girls since Jo left and he won’t have anything to do with any of them.  
  
It’s frustrating getting so involved in his friends’ love lives without ever getting thanked for it. James is completely underappreciated.  
  
“So who’s the right person?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Kendall mutters. “Someone sweet. Confident. Loyal. Pretty. Willing to argue with me when my head gets too big.”  
  
That last one sounds painful to admit to.  
  
“Right, see those are traits you look for in a re-la-tion-ship,” James sounds it out for clarity’s sake.  
  
“You know what? We’re done arguing about this. I have to prevent Logan from getting cannibalized by mother, thank you very much.”  
Kendall does an about face and starts walking back towards the Palmwoods.  
  
James sighs. “He’s never getting laid again.”  
  
“I wouldn’t be too sure,” Carlos says, all prescient and irritating.  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
Carlos gives him a meaningful look and hurries after Kendall. James frowns. Sometimes his friends are not very nice. He tries to catch up, snagging Carlos by the back of his t-shirt. He insists, “What do you mean?”  
  
Carlos inclines his head, the sun catching in his dark, dark eyes. “Just. All those things he named kinda sound a lot like you.”  
  
James blinks. “No they don’t.”  
  
“Uh, yeah, they do.” Carlos lights up. “And you are basically going on a date with girl Kendall. She’s dressed in plaid and she plays guitar. Yeah, I see that flyer sticking out of your pocket.”  
  
“She plays bass,” James protests, shoving the paper deeper down, fisting his hand around it.  
  
“Whatever you say, buddy.” Carlos pats him on the shoulder and then starts walking after Kendall, whose blond hair glints in the bright, bright morning daylight.  
  
James trails them most of the way home, only really catching up in the elevator. Kendall and Carlos squabble about who should go into the apartment first, and James has to reach around them both, shoving open the door to reveal complete and utter chaos.  
  
“Where have you been?” Logan hisses, eyes wide and frightened. “I almost _died_.” He snatches the coffee from Kendall’s hand and calls, “Mama Knight. We got you a present!”  
  
He is greeted with such a ferocious roar that James decides a hasty retreat to the pool is in order. The last thing he hears before descending in the elevator is, “Mom no, don’t bite Logan-!”

\---

  
Stevie doesn’t change for their date, which is actually refreshing. James watches her for a moment, following the long line of her threadbare jeans and the crosshatch of her clingy flannel shirt.  
  
Her smile dimples when she spots him, but for some reason, it’s not the smile that James is expecting, the pale pink plush of familiar lips or the wickedness he’s used to. Only, James can’t figure out who exactly he was expecting.  
  
Certainly not his blond best friend.  
  
James decides that he maybe let Carlos get to him earlier with the beanie jokes. Stevie looks nothing like Kendall, at all, in any way, shape, or form. No way. She’s got an ass and she didn’t steal her legs from a chicken, and at one point when they link arms he is reminded that those are definitely breasts against his elbow. Stevie is all girl, all different, exactly what he wants.  
  
They go to dinner, which is fun, and then a smoothie shack, and generally a really good time is had by all. Stevie orders a mango something or other, telling James in a bright voice, “I love smoothies. I work at the smoothie shack just to get the free ones. Also _cash_.”  
  
James hums how impressive he finds that, because people their age who can hold down jobs have always been so remarkable to him. He’s too irresponsible for it, singing notwithstanding. (The band isn’t a job, it’s a dream.)  
  
He sips his pink smoothie and starts at the taste.  
  
It’s sweeter than what he likes, and he isn’t sure why he picked it up. He makes a displeased noise.  
  
Stevie’s eyes crinkle at the corners. She’s so pretty. She’s so breathtakingly pretty.  
  
James drops her at home and kisses her slow and soft outside of her door, flannel near her hip fisted in his hand. He floats home on a cloud of self-satisfaction, content in his role of master of the universe. It’s going really great until he reaches the door of 2J and nearly  
has a head on collision with Kendall.  
  
James holds open the door, because he’s gracious like that, and Kendall steps on through, asking, “How was your date?”  
  
“Uh, pretty great, actually.” James grins. “We’re going out again on Thursday.”  
  
Kendall’s smile spreads honey-slow across his face. “Good for you.”  
  
He knocks his shoulder against James’s and then meanders over to the couch, intent on watching a thousand years of hockey. James stands in the door frame, weirdly disappointed.  
  
 _Good for you_? What kind of response is that? Carrots are also good for him, but doesn’t want to date them. This is the girl of his dreams. This is his future _person_.  
  
He doesn’t get to dwell on it, because from the dining area Carlos is calling, “How was your date with girl Kendall?”  
  
“Don’t call her that,” Kendall says calmly from the couch.  
  
(Weirdly, freakishly calm, actually, for a guy who can’t stand being mocked.)  
  
“Girl Kendall?” Logan asks, abruptly interested. He’s playing a game of Connect Four with Carlos at the dining room table, owning,  
because that’s all Logan knows how to do.  
  
Carlos launches into an explanation of Stevie, getting as far as her flannel shirt before James interjects, “She doesn’t dress like Kendall, okay. She dresses like…like…like nineties punk rock. But cleaner.”  
  
“We’re not judging,” Carlos says in his judgmental voice. “You have a type, and that type has evolved from pretty girl to lumberjack hobo.”  
  
“I wonder how that happened,” Logan adds pointedly, staring across the room at Kendall.  
  
James has no idea what Logan’s implying. All his smart must be rotting his brain, just like James always knew it would.  
  
“I’ll be there for you until the very end, buddy,” James tells him in a show of solidarity, visions of Logan in a hospice, clinging to life support dancing around in his head. Brain decay is a terrible thing.  
  
Logan frowns. “What are you talking about?”  
  
“Nothing. Just that you’re totally wrong. I went on a date with the prettiest pretty girl. And she likes sports. She’s captain of the basketball team,” James announces proudly.  
  
“Captain.” Logan whistles. “You hear that, El Capitan? James likes leaders.”  
  
Kendall glances up from his game, eyes flicking towards Logan, to James, and then back to Logan again. “Uh huh.”  
  
“Laugh it up, Tiny Men,” James instructs Logan and Carlos, rolling right over their indignant squawks. “One day, when your jealousy over my impossibly handsome good looks has passed, I will accept your apologies. Because I am the bigger man.”  
  
“That’s what Kendall said,” Carlos chirps, exploding into snickers.  
  
Contrary to the joke, Kendall sits there and doesn’t say a thing.

\---

  
Three nights later, James goes on date numero dos. Stevie’s smart as a whip, funny to boot, and in no way, not even once, does James mentally compare her to Kendall.  
  
Sure, when she hops up on stage during the restaurant’s karaoke segment, the way she croons out a made up song, rolling her eyes and sticking out her tongue all the while is a little-  
  
And the way she refuses to let James cover the bill, going so far as to bicker with him about it for five whole minutes is almost-  
  
Then there’s the stupid Smoothie Shack afterwards, and the toxic pink concoction she whips up for him with absolute pride, but-  
  
The way she stands up on her tippy toes and kisses James good night is nothing like Kendall at all.   
  
Probably.  
  
Maybe.  
  
That’s about when James’s realizes that he’s wondering what Kendall would taste like, and how it would be so, so… _right_. 

\---

  
He figures the best way to deal with this situation is to just talk to someone about it. Fortunately, he finds a convenient victim in the form of Logan doing math in the lobby. So he sits his butt on top of Logan’s math book, just to get his attention and everything.  
  
When Logan squawks in displeasure and starts flapping his arms like a very angry bird, James says, “Logan, I’m having a gay crisis.”  
  
That slows him down. Logan blinks. “Okay.”  
  
“Do you have any advice?”  
  
“About…being gay?”  
  
“Exactly,” James nods sagely, waiting for Logan’s wisdom.  
  
Which consists of, “I’m not gay, James.”  
  
James makes a condescending noise.  
  
“I’m not,” Logan reiterates reproachfully. James finds it very sad that Logan refuses to cope with his sexuality. “Dude, seriously. I’m not the one dating girl Kendall.”  
  
“She’s not girl Kendall,” James retorts, the book digging into his ass. He shifts and shimmies, trying to find a more comfortable way to smush math beneath his butt. Logan looks horrified by this assault on math, but James doesn’t care. He says, “She satisfies my needs.”  
  
“Most of the US and at least three outlying countries know how to satisfy your needs, thanks to that Maxim interview you did last year.”  
  
“Not like that. I mean. I like her.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“She’s pretty. And cute. And she really likes smoothies. And singing. And she’s kind of bossy, which I dig. She doesn’t take eighty hours to get dressed, like the last girl I dated, and she doesn’t go out of her way to impress me…” James tilts his head thoughtfully. “I’m describing Kendall, aren’t I?”  
  
“Pretty much,” Logan agrees. “So what are you going to do about it?”

\---

  
“You’re back early,” Kendall says from the couch, expression touched with surprise.  
  
He’s wearing a flannel shirt in pretty much the exact same color scheme as Stevie was on their date. James can’t believe he thought Carlos was just fucking with him on the whole girl-Kendall thing. They’re practically the same person.  
  
“Sorry my schedule’s not to your liking,” James retorts. “I can’t be pinned down by time. I’m whimsical.”  
  
“You’re something. Did you have fun?”  
  
“I think Stevie’s the one.”  
  
Kendall throws him a crooked smile, all prism-angles and  colors, the white-pink-red of happiness flickering at the corners of his lips.  
“You say that about every girl.”  
  
“But this time I’m right!”  
  
Shaking his head, Kendall burrows further into the sofa, tucking his long legs up on the coffee table to make room for James. “I don’t know why anyone agrees to date you.”  
  
“I can show you,” James blurts out before he can stop himself. _Why_? Why would he even – no wait, actually, this is a great idea. James thanks his brain for being a genius and says, “Just pretend you’re a girl.”  
  
“Why would I want to do that?” Kendall quirks one quizzical brow.  
  
He’s such a naysayer.  
  
“I’m trying to prove a point here.”  
  
“You’re not doing a very good job of it.”  
  
“That’s because you won’t do what I say!” James throws his hands up in the air. “Just be a girl.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“I don’t like that answer.”  
  
“Well I don’t like your face.”  
  
“You love my face,” James retorts, and he wins there, so Kendall lets it slide, fondness creeping into his smile.  
  
“How do I even pretend to be a girl?”  
  
“Sit there. Watch me with adoration.” James cocks his head to the side, assessing. “Twirl your hair or something.”  
  
Kendall gapes at him. “For someone who gets such a ridiculous amount of pussy, you hold to some really inappropriate stereotypes about females.”  
  
“Would you just-“  
  
“Dude, I don’t even know where to start.”  
  
“Keep your mouth shut and look pretty. I’ll do the rest,” James tells him confidently. He sidles up to Kendall’s side and mumbles something along the lines of _hey, baby, what’s going on_?  
  
And Kendall cracks, snorting back laughter until he can’t anymore and it spills hysterically from his lips. James pouts. “How are you breaking character already? You are the worst actor ever.”  
  
“Girls fall for that? You just saunter up and says _shorty what’s good_ and they-“  
  
“Drop their pants,” James agrees, completely unamused by Kendall’s tone of voice. “Why, you think you can do any better?”  
  
“I didn’t say that,” Kendall replies hastily.  
  
“You implied it. Implier. C’mon, show me what you’ve got.”  
  
“I’m not going to hit on you, James.”  
  
“Why not?” James doesn’t quite whine, although a person could be forgiven for mistaking the pleading edge to his voice for  
desperation.  
  
“You’re ridiculous.” Kendall shakes his head, a smile still painted across his lips, and all James wants is to feel it against his mouth. “Alright. I’ll play.”  
  
He scoots a little closer to James, getting all up in his personal space, and James breathes in sharply. He can smell Kendall’s cologne, clean and fresh, and the scent of shampoo and boy.  
  
Kendall says, “Hey. How are you doing?”  
  
“Young, rich, and hot. How ‘bout you?” James says, straight faced.  
  
“And oh so humble,” Kendall adds laughing.  
  
“No one ever told me humility was a requirement in this conversation.”  
  
Exasperated, Kendall says, “James, I’m trying to hit on you-“  
  
Which is pretty much all the prompting that James needs. He leans in and presses his mouth against Kendall’s, a soft, sweet kiss that lingers and melts between them.  
  
Kendall’s lips are dry and taste of spearmint and something more intimate, more familiar, more _him_. He moans into James’s mouth, startled, but game. He wraps an enthusiastic hand around the back of James’s neck to keep the kiss going, breathing him deep, and James can’t take it, he can’t, it’s too much.  
  
Breaking off the kiss, he says, “Wow.”  
  
“Yeah,” Kendall says, gasping for air. “I think I understand why girls agree to date you.”  
  
James agrees, “I’m amazing,” and tries to rope Kendall back in, mouthing against his jawline, his cheek, the corners of his lips. “You’re not too bad yourself.”  
  
“Calm down, you greedy fuck,” Kendall says to him, groaning loud and broken. “We’ve got all the time in the world.” He stops, considering. “Unless you’re going on another date with girl-Kendall.”  
  
James laughs, short and surprised. He murmurs, “Why would I want to do that when I’ve got the real thing?”  
  
Kendall watches him with narrow green eyes, his lips wet with James’s spit, and doesn’t say a thing. James bunches his fingers in the front of Kendall’s flannel shirt and asks, “Wait. I do have the real thing, right?”  
  
For a second there’s nothing but silence filling the apartment, an uncharacteristic quiet broken only by their ragged breaths and the almost audible sound of Kendall thinking. James hates thinking. It gets in the way of _fun_.  
  
Kendall says, “You’re serious about this? This isn’t a joke?”  
  
Adamantly, James shakes his head. He may not know a lot of things, like why the FBI never answers when he has a hair crisis, but he knows this – he likes Kendall. He likes likes, Kendall. That’s why he zeroed in on Stevie in the first place.  
  
“But you know we’d have to have a re-la-tion-ship, right?” Kendall sounds a little bit afraid, like James would ever treat him like some girl he met off the street. He should know better.  
  
James replies, “I thought you didn’t want one of those.” It’s a tease, nothing more, but Kendall’s shoulders still slump. James hurries to say, “Which would be a shame. Because with you, I, uh. Do.”  
  
Kendall grins, sharp with mischief, happier than James has seen him in a while. He says, “Then, yeah. Yeah, you’ve got me.”  
James pecks him on the lips and says, “Okay. Okay. You’ve got me too.”  
  
Then he tugs on Kendall’s dumb flannel shirt and adds, “But we have got to talk about your wardrobe.”


End file.
